


Such a Base Emotion

by FrostyFingers



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyFingers/pseuds/FrostyFingers
Summary: While in Florence to gather intel, Liz is unhappy to discover that Red has additional plans involving another woman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-upload because someone for some reason unknown to me, decided to have this fic deleted...

  
Chapter 1  


Red hung up his phone with a sigh and then turned to face her. “Lizzie, I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He gave her a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. “Our pilot seems to have gotten the flu. There’s no way we’ll get him ready to go for at least a couple of days.”

“So, we’ll have to stay here?”

They had flown to Florence the week prior, as Red had information on yet another blacklister. She hadn’t been psyched to go with him, especially since their relationship had cooled somewhat lately. She had never been to Italy before and he had promised her to show her the beauty of the country, but he was yet to make the time for a sightseeing tour. She'd never stayed with him for so long before. He was beginning to drive her crazy, but he seemed indifferent to her feelings and it hurt.

“Yes, for a few more days, less than a week.”

“I can’t stay that long! I have a job. Cooper will have my head!”

He settled down in an armchair and took a sip of his scotch. “There’s really nothing I can do.”

“Surely there’s an airport around.”

“I don’t fly commercial.”

“But I do,” she argued.

He gave her a look. “Lizzie, it’s only been a week. You still haven’t experienced Florence! There’s no way you can leave now.”

Liz crossed her arms over her chest. She really did want to experience the city, but a vacation with the Concierge of Crime? Her boss surely wouldn’t approve. “What about –“

“You let me worry about Cooper,” Red interrupted. “Harold mustn’t know we've already received the intel.” Still, she looked undecided. “A few days, Lizzie. Live a little.”

He could see the second he had gotten through to her. “Fine,” she agreed. “But I swear to god, Reddington, if your pilot isn’t fit to fly in a few days, then I will!”

Red smiled, flustering her further. “You’ll love Florence, Lizzie.”

“Yes, you’ve said that before and that was a week ago. So far, I’m not impressed.”

“Well, we did have work to do, but now –“ The ringing of his cell phone broke him off. “I have to get that,” he told her. “Hello, dear,” Red greeted and his voice dropped a notch.

Liz felt like she'd been dropped into a bad movie. He usually didn’t dismiss her like that. It seemed like he'd found someone else to play with. That suited her just fine. She didn’t want to hang around him all day anyway. Grabbing her jacket from the back of a chair, she decided to find her own way around the city. If he wasn’t inclined to show her, she would do so herself.

She merely waved at Dembe on her way out and he had apparently gotten the hint that she didn’t want him to keep her. At first, she did the stereotypical things that tourists do. She took a guided tour through the city and found some souvenir shops, where she bought gifts for Aram, Ressler, and the rest of the gang. Then she found the most adorable little restaurant. The owners didn’t speak a word of English and Liz didn’t speak any Italian, but with photos on the menu, they found their way easily enough. She had probably never experienced such friendliness in a restaurant before. It almost felt as if she was friends with them, instead of just an ordinary guest. After a delicious meal, she left them with a nice tip, fully set on going there at least once more before she had to leave Italy. She then spent some time in a museum before slowly making her way back to the house later that evening.

“Where have you been?” Red asked the moment she stepped through the door.

Putting her bags down, she shrugged out of her jacket. It was rather warm outside and a fine line of sweat was already forming on her forehead. “Out.”

“You shouldn’t just wander off.”

Liz raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m a grown woman. I think I can handle leaving the house by myself.”

“I see your mood hasn’t improved,” he replied.

Was he serious? He was the one on her case as soon as she had gotten back, but he dared to complain about her mood? “Excuse me?” She managed to get out between clenched teeth.

Red sighed. “Look –“ Again the chirping of his cell interrupted them.

“Someone’s popular today,” she sneered, but he ignored her.

“Miss me already?” He said to whatever bimbo was calling him again. She would have never thought that he liked his women clingy, but apparently she didn't know him as well as she'd thought. “What are you wearing?” he almost growled.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Liz said to herself. Was he going to perform phone sex right now, with her just a couple of feet away? Shaking her head, she took her bags and went to her room, shutting the door behind her. She flopped down onto the bed and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Calm down, Liz. He’s not worth getting angry over.’

He turned and watched her walking up the stairs, her hips swaying ever so slightly. She was wearing a dress. How could he have missed that? Her butt looked so sweet from that angle; he wished he could squeeze the tight flesh in his hands. It wasn’t long until she had vanished from his sight and he could hear the door bang shut. So Lizzie was mad again. She seemed to be mad a lot lately. It was tiring to fight with her, but it seemed as if it didn’t matter what he said or what he did, because she would be mad anyway.

“Did you hear what I said?”

The voice in his ear pulled him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, dear. For a moment I thought I heard someone at the door.”

“And wished it were me?”

He chuckled. “You've read my mind, but you’re changing the subject. I think you were about to take off those panties.”

After a couple of minutes, Liz had effectively calmed herself down, her heart rate returning to its normal pace. She took the bags and emptied the contents on her bed, examining her purchases. Aram would surely be delighted that she had thought of him on her trip, and the others probably as well, but Aram’s pure heart made this all the more worth it. She loved buying gifts and watching the recipient’s face, that was really the biggest reason for her to go looking for souvenirs for her team. She briefly worried at the scar on her hand, suddenly caught by the realization that bringing back souvenirs made her trip appear less business-like. 

Her door opened and suddenly Red was there, looking back and forth from her to the souvenirs on the bed. “Did you buy me a gift?” he asked, though his eyes had found their resting place on her once again. That dress. Had he really not paid any attention before? It was short and A-line, kind of wispy, flouncy and red. So short and so red that he felt himself twitching inside his pants. And was that a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her chest?

“Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“Yes. Did you buy me a gift?” he asked again.

She balled her hands into fists, but refused to hit the mattress. “It’s common sense to knock and wait for a reply. It’s called manners.”

He cocked his head to the side and Liz felt her insides flutter. Did he have to do that? It made him look so curious, so… cute. “Are you going to reply to my question? You know, it’s impolite to answer a question with a question.”

Oh, he really had the balls to say that? “No. No, I did not buy anything for you! And why would I?”

“Because you were out shopping while I was waiting for your return?”

She snorted, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Right. You waited so very anxiously for my return. I could see that. And I wouldn’t have gone out alone if you had actually taken me out, as promised.”

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets made him look so much younger and somewhat uneasy. “So, that's what this is about.”

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Of course she had to pull this out of him. “What 'what' is about?”

“You’re mad at me because I didn’t take you out.”

“Like you promised?” She shot back. “You made me stay here with the promise of actually showing me the city and your little hole in the wall places, but you didn’t. I've been bored out of my mind. You’re all talk.”

His expression darkened at her words. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, spare me.”

“Lizzie –“

“I said spare me. I don’t care what you have to say. I just have to somehow get through the rest of this trip.”

This wasn’t exactly going in the direction that he had wanted it to go. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly. She was too mad to care at the moment. “And I do want to show you around. How about we talk about this over dinner? I know this beautiful small family-run rest –“

“I've eaten already,” she interrupted. “If you would excuse me.”

Somewhat crestfallen, Red nodded and left her room without another word.

She could hear his footsteps becoming more distant as he walked off. They sounded sad, somehow, if footsteps can even sound sad. The soft click of the door falling in its lock seemed so dramatic and Liz chided herself for over-thinking once again. He had a talent for making her feel like an ass, but he had been the one making promises to show her places she could have never dreamed of, and then completely ignoring her the next moment because of some hooker woman that kept calling. She wasn’t jealous. She really wasn’t!

So maybe she did enjoy having his undivided attention, but lately that wasn’t the case anyway, so she shouldn’t be surprised. It hurt nonetheless. After what they’ve been through together, she loved being the center of his universe. He really had a talent for making her feel like that. It made her remember what Naomi… Carla, whatever name she was going by, had told her. Could she actually count on him being truthful in that aspect, or was the woman right after all? She was too scared of the answer to give it any more thought.

  



	2. Chapter 2

After he'd returned to his room, she called again. She was hoping to pick up where they'd left off, before he hung up to check on Lizzie, but no. Just no. Red's enthusiasm was gone. The moment had passed. He greeted her brusquely and spouted a creative and implausible excuse to get her off his back for the night.

He was crestfallen, mad at himself, and above all ashamed of not only his failure to take Lizzie out, but the flagrant flaunting of his sexuality.

He'd long-since come to terms with the fact that she'd never want him, would never see him that way, and yet... whenever presented with the opportunity, he was all too eager to make sure she knew that other women did.

He shook his head at himself and grabbed the bottle of scotch. He took three long pulls, straight from the bottle, relishing the burn down his throat. With a heaving sigh, he then repeated the action.

Ridiculous. Classless. Punishing.  
Anything to rid himself of the obtrusive, unending image of her long, lean legs in that dress.

God, why did she have to wear that dress?

He smoothed a hand down the front of his trousers, adjusting to the tightness that his hand had inadvertently worsened. "Get it together, Reddington," he mumbled to himself. "You should know better."

The room was too hot, the air too stale. One hand gripped the back of his neck as he tipped his head back and drank from the bottle again.

Fresh air. He needed fresh air.

For a moment, he debated taking the scotch with him, but with a rueful shake of his head, recapped it and set it on the armoire on his way out. Pale light shone in the dark hallway through the crack of Lizzie's closed door. She was still awake, probably reading, he thought.

He continued on his path, down the steps, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

The chair on the porch was damp. Normally, he'd dry it before sitting, but he was too out of sorts to bother with such rudimentary decorum. He rested his elbows on his knees, taking deep, heaving breaths of the crisp night air.

He couldn't force her out of either his head or his heart. Nothing short of finishing that bottle upstairs could have spared him, but even that would only help for the night, anyway.

Suddenly, the porch became just a little bit darker. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. She'd turned off her light. "Goodnight, Elizabeth," he whispered. "You looked beautiful in that dress today, by the way. Sorry I was too busy being a bastard to tell you."

Every stupid sound echoed in the enormous old house. Every door, every window, every pipe, and every plank of the dusty hardwood floor. Liz had been keeping herself as still as possible, always, unwilling to allow Red to track her movements through the walls in the way that she'd been tracking his.

She was sitting up in bed with her nose stuffed into a book, the room lit only by a tiny lamp on the nightstand, when she heard his bedroom door open and close, then his light footsteps in the hall. They were louder, heavier when he hit the stairs, pulled by gravity, and the volume gradually decreased again as he got further down, until he reached the landing. He seldom removed his shoes before bed, and this was no exception.

She wasn't even pretending to continue to read anymore. Her ears were peeled, her full focus on him. When he turned right, she assumed that he'd headed towards the kitchen. And when she couldn't hear anything at all, she felt sure that he'd sat down with a bottle of scotch.

But then, the silence was broken by the rattle and thud of the back door opening and closing, and suddenly she was on her feet, pulling back the curtain and hoping that he wouldn't throw a backwards glance to see her watching him.

What was he doing, anyway?

At first, she thought he might be heading out to meet someone, but that wouldn't make sense, because he couldn't. The back yard's a fortress, fully-enclosed by a fence with vines so overgrown that the gate doesn't even open. She'd checked on the moment they arrived, out of habit.

Escape routes are important.

He took a seat, but he was kind of hunched forward. Lighting a cigar, maybe? It's too dark. She couldn't see. Without further thought, she doubled back to the lamp and turned it off, hoping to increase the visibility.

It helped, but not enough, so she sat and watched him for far, far too long.

Lizzie, Lizzie... why'd she have to wear that dress? She should just take the damn thing off.

God, she probably has...

What does she normally wear to bed? Either those tight grey yoga pants, or those super-short cotton shorts, with the elastic waistband.

Thoughts of neither helped the growing situation in his trousers.

He closed his eyes and counted out ten deep, measured breaths.

Fuck.

But she's asleep, right? He tried to reason with himself as he begrudgingly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers.

His own hand became hers, roughly drawing his hardened length out of its confines. That's how she'd do it, fitful and needy, maybe even angry.

He spat on his palm and stroked himself from base to tip, his shoulders hunched over, trembling as he picked up speed. He bit down on his lip at the effort to be quiet, as he thought of her smooth thighs opening for him, and then wrapping around his waist, pulling him down, pulling him in.

But he rolls them over, so that she's on top and leaning over him, her breath hot on his neck. He ventures one hand down her back, grabs her ass, a handful of surprisingly-soft flesh. She's so beautiful, so lovely, and she wants him, needs him, just as badly as he needs her.

His breathing became labored, and certainly too loud, but he's nearing the point of no return. Hand scorching. An aching tightness coiling further and further, unbearable and seemingly-endless.

Then he pushes up so that they're sitting up straight, and he lowers his mouth to her breast, and she moans his name, breathless.

She grabs his hand and puts it where they're linked. She just shows him what she wants, what she needs, and as he rubs short, fast circles, she arches her back, breasts heaving, squeezing around him tighter and tighter...

 

Red's body suddenly flopped backwards, the nape of his neck digging into the back of the damp, wooden chair, and she coming, she's coming, she's coming, and, "GOD, LIZZIE!" so was he, his fist pumping furious - his throbbing cock making a mess of his dry clean-only shirt while his eyes remained tightly-shut, preserving the fantasy for as long as he possibly could.

When he finally opened them, peering at the darkness around him, he was a little bit ashamed, still, but not as much as he probably should be, he thought. He'd done this a million times, thinking of her, and he was resigned to the fact that he'd probably do it a million more. It would always hurt. It would always be perfunctory - always rushed. Never like the real thing.

Whatever that was, it was surely beyond even the wildest reaches of his fanciful imagination.

Liz's eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and it didn't take long for her to realize what he was doing. She couldn't have looked away if she wanted to. (Why didn't she want to?) She found her fingers clutching the curtain, trembling. The glass fogged up with her breath, so she dragged her hand across it, almost embarrassed.

But with his back to her, she couldn't fucking see anything. Not a thing but the rhythmic motion of his hunched shoulders.

And an old, familiar ache sparked to life in her belly. She felt her heart quicken as the feeling spread, lower and uncomfortably hot - a feeling that usually signaled the need to take off her clothes.

She would have chastised herself, were she not so thoroughly spellbound.

Maybe later.

But then, a terrible thought reached out, grabbed her, and shook her senseless.

What if he's crying?

From the little she could see, he could just as easily be sobbing as masturbating. She'd seen his eyes brimming full of tears countless times, but crying? Real, gut-wrenching sobs?

Never.

If hewas crying, then she'd surely hate herself for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Not just the wrong conclusion, but that very specific, heavy-with-implication conclusion. A conclusion that would raise innumerable questions with tough answers.

Her anger and frustration jumped to the back-burner in tandem. If he was crying, then she wanted to know why. More than that, she wanted to comfort him.

In a heartbeat, Liz spun a 180 and raced to her door. With one hand on the doorknob, she suddenly remembered the need to be stealthy. She took a deep breath and crept down the stairs, careful and cat-like, making good use of her FBI training.

A single hand on the wall guided her through the thick blanket of darkness. Inch by inch, she drew closer, holding her breath without even realizing it.

The stupid back door was solid wood, not screen and glass like most others. She had to bypass it and peek through a curtained window in order to complete her mission. As she pulled it back, her heart pounded so hard that it was the only thing that she could hear.

Until.

She heard her name.

And no, he definitely wasn't crying. She was right. She was right. She was right the first time.

An audible gasp escaped her lips, and her knees wobbled. She was dizzy, light-headed, but she stayed there, one hand braced on the window's ledge, transfixed.

He said her name, but his eyes were closed. He couldn't see her, didn't even know that she was there.

That could only mean one thing.

Too much was happening at once. Between his face and his cock, her eyes were torn over where to focus, so they darted back and forth, satisfying her curiosity for neither.

He was big. Bigger than she'd expected, and thicker too. (Since when did she have expectations about that?) His lips were parted and pulled tight, his brow furrowed more deeply than she'd ever seen it. She knew instantly that this expression was one of her favorites. (But since when did she have favorites? Shit.)

When the last of his shudders ceased and his body stilled, she continued to watch for as long as she dared, and then she spun and hurried away, almost forgetting, yet again, to be stealthy.

But if he was in fact pleasuring himself to thoughts of her, then what about the woman on the phone? That seemed like a poor choice of words anyway - 'pleasuring himself'. He looked anything but pleased.

She'd been right though, about having questions. They swirled in her head, in perfect time with her awkward arousal. A cold shower would have been great, but Red probably thought that she was asleep. Better to keep it that way, she decided ruefully as she climbed into bed, staring down what would surely be a long night.

  



	3. Chapter 3

  
Chapter 3  


Sleep just didn't seem to want to come to her that night. The sound of his voice when he came, came with her name on his lips, together with the image of his goods forever branded into her head, was what kept her awake. She kept asking herself just why he was jerking off while thinking about her. It did seem like he had a girlfriend, or at least some woman that he could play with. Surely he didn't need to imagine Liz to get himself off. What about the phone sex before? The chances of the mystery woman being called 'Lizzie' as well were slim, but not non-existent.

How could she look at him without giving herself away? He always seemed to know exactly what went on in her head, or at least if something was wrong. Sighing, she turned onto her side, ignoring the growing ache between her legs and facing the door, her ears strained as she listened for any evidence that he was coming back inside. Suddenly fear grabbed at her. What if he had seen her? Heard her? Knew that she had watched him? But she had been so quiet, so careful.

She held her breath when she heard his slow steps on the old, wooden stairs, the light flickering on in the hallway. He had surely taken his time outside. It had been at least half an hour since she crawled back into bed. Her hand gripped the pillow tightly when his shadow was visible right in front of her door. He was right there, right there in front of her bedroom. He wasn't merely walking by, he was standing in front of her door. Was he, too, trying to determine what she was doing? If so, she had to do her best to act as if she was asleep. Slowly she released the breath she had been holding, wondering what she was supposed to sound like when sleeping. He was still standing at her door.

LizzingtonLizzingtonLizzington

Red took his time sitting outside after having tucked himself back into his pants. He didn't bother cleaning himself up. He could always shower. Surely that wouldn't wake her up. Maybe he should stop doing this, touching himself with her in mind. It was as if he was violating her somehow. She deserved so much better than some old, pudgy man lusting after her, but at least he could use that instead of doing something, saying something that he might regret later. He had to get his libido under control. He couldn't even remember a time when he had pleasured himself thinking about another woman, he couldn't have. Lizzie had wormed her way into his heart. With every breath he took, she was on his mind. It killed him not to have her. He wanted her so badly and his hand just wasn't enough. Usually he always got what he wanted, whom he wanted. Lizzie was different, off-limits and anyway, he had an outlet for that overactive libido of his. Madeline.

Madeline always made sure to please him until he passed out, but many times he'd caught himself closing his eyes while being intimate with her, picturing Lizzie's hair tickling his face as she leaned down to kiss him, her legs on either side of his waist as she rode him with passion, her sweet scent lingering in the air… He could feel himself getting excited again and cursed into the dark night. It was time for another drink and a cold shower and then he really needed some sleep.

He stood and wiped his hand on his shirt. It needed dry-cleaning now anyway. His eyes went to the windows of her bedroom, but she was asleep by now, curled up under her covers. Would she sleep with one leg thrown over the covers or both of them neatly tucked in? Were they pulled up to her chin or resting just below her breasts? He had all those scenarios and images in his head, but what he really wanted was to see her. He wanted to be able to walk into her bedroom and watch her sleep, chasing away the demons that might haunt her at night. He slowly made his way up the stairs, flicking on the light so he wouldn't run into any furniture. He didn't want to disturb her rest.

Instead of going straight to his room, he found himself coming to a stop in front of her door. She was so close, but yet so far away. Resting his palm against the wood, he sighed. "Goodnight, Lizzie," he whispered almost inaudibly, before shuffling away to his own room.

LizzingtonLizzingtonLizzington

She woke with a start when she felt the presence of someone else in her room. She was rather sure that she had gone to bed alone that night. It was still dark outside, so she couldn't have been asleep for long and her eyes only slowly adjusted.

"Hello, Lizzie," his deep voice came, and despite herself, she felt a shiver running through her body.

"Red? Jesus, you scared me! I was deep asleep!"

He moved from the corner of the room over to the window and the moonlight framed his face beautifully. "Is that so?"

He sounded off, somewhat weird. "Is everything okay?"

"How long have you been asleep, Lizzie?" Red asked instead.

She sat up against the head board and pulled the blanket over her chest, feeling his eyes following her every move. "Uh… I don't know. I don't even know what time it is."

He chuckled, which confused her slightly. What was he getting at? "I'd say it's around…" He made a show of looking at his watch. "Ten after… you watching me in the backyard." Liz gasped. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you like that? Watching me come over myself with your name on my lips? I was imagining your hand, your hot, little mouth on my cock. I came so hard, I'm afraid I might have ruined a perfectly good dress shirt." Her breathing was labored by now. Apparently, she hadn't been stealthy enough after all. He knew. "It's too bad you only watched from afar, when you could've been participating. I surely would have loved it. I wonder if you can fit all of me into your mouth."

"I… I don't…"

She watched him take another step closer, an unsettling smile on his lips.

"Are you shy? Is that why you were hiding instead of coming out to play, because you're shy? Tell me, Lizzie, did you touch yourself when you went back up? Did you think of my throbbing cock and find yourself wet and needy? Did you like what you saw?" He didn't even give her the chance to reply to any of his questions, not that she knew how to anyway. "Would you like to see it again, to participate this time? Instead of your fingers it would be my cock buried deep inside of you. I would touch you in places you've never been touched before. I'd make you fly, Lizzie. You'll never want anyone else."

He took a hold of the blanket and slowly started pulling it from her body. She was dressed in short, tight yoga pants and an even tighter tank top. He leered openly, staring at her erect nipples that were straining against the material, begging for attention.

"Lizzie," he growled. "I touched myself with you in mind." Her lips were parted, her heart racing, she couldn't speak, could barely breathe. "Did you touch yourself?"

She pulled up her knees and hugged them to her chest and he stepped closer, standing right next to her now. Her eyes followed his hand as he reached out and trailed his fingers over her skin, raising goosebumps.

"You should've joined me, Lizzie. I would've made it worth your while." He sat down next to her hip, his body twisted so he could look at her and her legs moved on their own, to make space for him as his left arm went to the other side of her body, boxing her in. "You should've joined me," he said again, this time even lower.

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the back of the hand that was lying next to her hip, caressing his knuckles. He gave her a smile and leaned over to kiss her knee.

"Join me instead?" She finally spoke, her voice only shaking slightly.

He had her in his arms in a matter of seconds, his lips demanding as his hands went straight between her legs. Apparently his… nightcap outside, hadn't sated him. He moved methodically, his lips in sync with his fingers, as he removed her clothing. "Lizzie… Lizzie… Lizzie," he whispered over and over again. With every kiss, every gentle bite, he whispered her name. "Lizzie… Lizzie?"

Her eyes snapped open at the knock on her door, but she couldn't see anything. She realized she was still wearing her sleeping mask, her panda sleeping mask. Pulling one side up, she could see that it was bright outside and that she was alone. She was alone.

"Lizzie? Are you still asleep?" His voice came from the other side of the door.

'What the fuck?' She thought. Did she just have a… sex dream starring Raymond Reddington? The man that was now standing in front of her bedroom door. "Uhm… I'm…" She cleared her throat. "I'm awake."

There was a moment of silence. "Are you hungry? I made breakfast."

"Uh… sure, yeah… I… I'll just… get dressed."

"Oh, right. Of course. I'll be downstairs," he replied.

"Well… fuck." She was aroused, very much so, thanks to the bastard that had to pull her from her dream, and there wasn't anything she could do. While she could take matters into her own hands, the risk of him walking in on her was too high. Now, that would be something. Liz quickly got herself ready and decided on some shorts with a thin t-shirt. Mornings there could be brutal and she was already too hot as it was.

Only slowly she made her way downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee waking her further, but she wasn't happy. She was rather unhappy actually, after the dream she'd had, who could blame her? The worse thing was that she didn't even get to do something about her… situation.

"Good morning," he greeted softly. He was already fully dressed, looking dapper, as he always did.

Looking around, she could see that he had gone all out. The table was covered with plates full of food. There were scrambled eggs and bacon, croissants, pastries, waffles, no pancakes, she wondered how he knew about that, and…

"I wasn't sure if you liked sausage in the morning, but I didn't want to be unprepared," he said.

Oh, she liked sausage in the morning... Just a different kind.

She had to get her mind out of the gutter. "I'm still trying to grasp how you managed to pull all this off. Who's supposed to eat all of this anyway?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and held out a cup for her. "Coffee?"

Liz stared at the offered cup, noticing how it was his right hand holding it up. The hand that had been wrapped around his cock, when she had watched his jerk off the night before.

"Lizzie?"

"What?" Her head snapped to his. "Oh, eh, yeah, sure, thanks."

He handed her the cup, but continued looking at her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

She forced a smile to her lips. "Just not really awake yet, I guess."

He smiled back. At least she hadn't ripped his head off again. "I thought you had turned in rather early. Did you wander off at night?"

He had surely meant that as a joke, but she couldn't stop herself from choking on her coffee, sputtering and coughing as the liquid went down the wrong way. Red made to get up to assist her in some way, but she waved him off. "It's fine. Hot. It's hot."

Looking anything but reassured, he nodded. "Coffee usually is."

"Funny," she shot back after she had calmed down again.

Chuckling slightly, he started holding out several plates and platters to her, refraining from just putting several things on her plate himself. He knew how she could get, and fighting in the morning was not on his agenda.

At least one could count on Red's ability to talk. He talked and talked about anything and nothing at all and it gave her the chance to look at him as he did so. Several times she caught herself gazing at his lips, watching his tongue sneak out to catch jelly from one of the pastries. When he got up to get more coffee, her eyes traveled over his body, taking in his perfectly shaped butt, that was so wonderfully framed by his tailored pants. She even managed to sneak a glance at the front of his trousers, images of the night flashing before her eyes.

The worst thing was when he reached out, with his right hand, and touched hers to get her attention. This was killing her. He was killing her.

  



	4. Chapter 4

  
Chapter 4  


That night, they hosted a party at the enormous old villa. Or rather, Red did. How he threw together such an event at the drop of a hat, she had no idea. It was a veritable who's who of the wealthy and well-connected.

Could this night possibly get any worse? Liz wondered.

Red's 'hot and cold' act was driving her mad. MAD! But at least, as far as she could tell, his mystery bimbo wasn't there.

After having so many glasses of wine, she was finally able to admit to herself that she wanted him. She wanted all of him, but truly having his heart wasn't a short-term possibility.

His body, on the other hand... now that, that just might be an option. But how?

She thought about the moment that pushed her over the edge and dragged her into this god-forsaken rabbit hole. It was when she saw him - when she saw ALL of him.

What would he do if he saw her? Would that be enough? Would he attempt to intervene and assist, or would he simply run away? Maybe he'd do as she had, enjoy the show and then retreat. If the images of her body would haunt him as his still haunted her, then she could settle for that...

Maybe. For now.

From the most manipulative machinations of her mind, a conniving plan was born.

She waited until Red had everyone engrossed in a story, when she could be certain that no one was watching her, and then she ripped a button off of the cuff of her cashmere cardigan. "Oh, darn it!"

All eyes turned to her. "My button just snagged on my watch." She held it out for inspection.

"Hang onto it, sweetheart. I can have it fixed for you tomorrow," Red offered.

She shook her head. "Thanks. I'm just afraid that I'll lose it before then."

"There's a sewing kit in my leather carry-on bag, third shelf, in the master bathroom. I can fix it for you now, if you'd prefer, but it won't be as pretty."

Only Red would offer to sew a button while hosting a criminal-flooded soiree, but he'd only do it for her.

"Oh, you do?" She shook her head and chuckled. "Of course you do. I can just sew it back on by myself, then. Thank you."

She'd seen the sewing kit in action before. Red didn't keep it on hand for mending clothes, but instead for mending lacerations from bullet grazes and other similar injuries.

She quickly made her way up the stairs, down the hall, through the master bedroom, and into the attached bathroom. Rather than simply taking the sewing kit into her room, she took his entire bag, which contained all of his toiletries - things he'd need before turning in for the night.

The button ruse turned out to be more difficult for her over-sauced hands than she'd expected, but she still managed to reattach the button and return to the group in what she hoped was a timely manner. She pointed to it triumphantly. "Success!"

She'd left his bag in her bedroom, of course.

Trap set.

She couldn't shake the possibility that Red would notice her acting strangely, all jumpy and nervous, so she continued to drink. Besides that, being drunk was the perfect excuse for not returning his bag.

As the party began to wind down, she entered the next phase of her plan, get a little too touchy and flirty.

"I just had the most random thought," she said, intentionally wistful, and just warm enough.

"Oh?"

"The tango milonga. Riveting as your orated instructions were, I never actually learned to do it. It would be fun to watch those dancers again."

He canted his head and chuckled. "I wasn't teaching you the tango. I was teaching the art of negotiation."

"Fine, but that doesn't really change the fact that I don't know how to tango and that I'd like to watch the dancers again."

"You also can't really learn by watching. You've gotta do it to feel it."

She sighed. "That's too bad..."

As they fell into silence, she looked down and fingered the button she'd stitched, pretending to inspect the quality of her handiwork. She could hear the gears churning in his head as he worked up the nerve to make his next move.

"Shall I teach you?"

"Hmmm..." She pretended to mull it over. "Just don't be mad if I step on your feet."

He reached out one hand and gently palmed the nape of her neck, igniting a wave of shivers that she failed to conceal. "Then I will, but not until you're sober enough. You don't really have the balance to safely pull off the moves right now."

Oh hell.

"So... another time, then, 'cause I won't be sober again tonight..."

"Seems so."

"Well, I guess I'm going to bed, but it's okay.." She stepped closer to him and straightened his tie, trying her damnedest to look breezy and nonchalant about it. "I'm sure you'll be able to find yourself a more suitable partner for now."

"Lizzie, nobody's dancing..."

"Hm, well," At that, she made her exit, tossing a quick, "Goodnight," over her shoulder.

Hopefully the unplanned snark wouldn't impede the next phase of her plan.

\---...---...---...---

As he finally ushered the last of his guests from the home, Red couldn't have been more relieved. He could appreciate having the company of friends, but these exhausting people weren't his friends. They were sources, contacts, and allies. The relationships between everyone in that room were founded on and fed by a web of reciprocating services and benefits. Gatherings such as this were their preferred means of networking - in person, with plenty of alcohol and private security.

He wasn't sure if Lizzie understood that. At times, she seemed to be enjoying herself, or at least as content in pretending as he was; but in others, a certain edge crept into her tone. It was cold, and accompanied by smiles that didn't quite meet her eyes.

They weren't exactly on good terms, anyway, and given her track record, he should probably consider himself lucky that she didn't cause a scene.

Is anything more depressing than the silence and wreckage left in a party's wake? The villa's shiny, opulent features suddenly seemed garish and tacky. Stray wine glasses, champagne flutes, and tumblers littered every flat surface. The half-eaten trays of hors d'oeuvres looked better suited for dogs to eat than people.

He made these observations in passing, on his way back to his room, glad to know that by the time he'd be up the next day, it would all be cleaned up and back to normal again.

His wealth provided the means to clean the mess as easily as it had created it.

For now, a super-hot shower would be enough to ease at least some of his tension. He groaned quietly at the thought of the high-pressure water beating down on his shoulders. Heaven. He trudged upstairs and made quick work of shedding every last piece of clothing, and then stopped in his tracks as soon as he opened the bathroom door.

His bag.

His twelve thousand-dollar Hermès overnight bag was no longer nestled on a shelf beside the door.

Lizzie!

Damnit, she didn't put it back. Should he really have to explain the basic courtesy involved in borrowing other people's things?

Well, he can be discourteous too. It's too bad that she's probably passed out already. He wouldn't mind shutting her down by wordlessly grabbing his bag and holding it up in the air when she moans about him not knocking again.

Red wrapped a towel around his waist and padded over to her bedroom. As satisfying as it would have been to shut down another lecture about not knocking, he opted to move quietly, so as not to wake her.

After slowly twisting the knob, he heard a gasp from the other side of the door. Was she having a bad dream? Did he wake her up? He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, but the room was too dark for him to see, at first. His eyes swept over the floor in search of his bag. Moonlight shining through the window helped, but only a little.

The sound of rustling blankets and another gasp from the bed grabbed his attention, so he made his way over to her, concerned, ready to wake her from a nightmare.

He'd already forgotten about his bag by the time she came into focus.

And then nothing.  
His mind blanked, disbelieving. HIS LIZZIE!

Her tank top was pulled down, under her breasts, lifting them up and pushing them out. Her left hand was clutching at her right breast, but her left hand... GOD... it was under the blanket, unseen, but definitely between her legs.

And he shouldn't be there.  
He should have knocked.  
... but she couldn't see him from behind that crazy panda sleep mask. If she lifted it, he'd have no excuse for being there, hovering over her, wearing only a towel while she pleasured herself.

Getting out of there wasn't even an option. He couldn't have moved if he tried. Couldn't even breathe.

The way her lips were parted, letting out the tiniest, sweetest little gasps, he would have killed to see her eyes. Were they squeezed shut under the mask, or open and rolling backwards, into her head?

Holding him in equal enthrallment was the mystery hidden beneath the blanket. He wondered about her technique. How many fingers were slipped inside of her? One? Two? GOD, three? Perhaps none.

Both his fingers and his cock twitched against the urge to rip off the blanket and plow into her - plow into her hard enough to split her in half.

Then she was going faster, moaning louder, and Red just couldn't take it. He loosened his towel just enough to slip his hand beneath it, wrapping his fingers around his erection as if he were muzzling a rabid dog.

One stroke. Just one.  
That was all he'd allow himself for now, but as soon as he's back in his room, all bets are off.

"Oh my god, Red!"

He stumbled backwards, panic-stricken, eyes wide. How could he explain himself? She'd never forgive him.

It took several seconds for him to realize that she hadn't stopped, hadn't seen him at all, in fact.

But she was coming. She was coming and calling out his name.

He'll never know exactly how he managed to tear himself away and slip through the door unseen, but he did. From the safety of the hallway, with her door closed behind him, Red leaned against it, trying to catch his breath.

Fuck, the bag.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to have heard the door when he went back in for the final time. He found his bag on the floor, partially hidden by her sweater. Nearby, he noticed her bra, panties, and shoes. All of it was just haphazardly scattered around. He was lucky that he didn't trip.

Back in his room, he saw a figure huddled beneath the covers on his bed. He took action immediately, slipping the desk drawer open and firmly grabbing his thirty-eight Smith & Wesson. Anyone who could get through his guards would need to be questioned before they're killed, if possible. "Who the hell are you?" he growled.

A head poked out from beneath the blanket. "Just me, Raymond. Why so dramatic?"

"Jesus Christ, Madeline." He shook his head, more relieved than annoyed, and then ambled back to the desk to return the gun. "How did you get in here?"

"Dembe let me in. You would have too, if you knew what I'm wearing. Why didn't you invite me to your little soiree? Is it another woman? That young one again. What did you say her name was?"

"Nicole," he replied flatly.

"With your many assignations, I'm surprised that she's stuck around for so long..."

Red had no desire to continue this conversation, so he redirected her attention by dropping his towel to the floor. His erection jumped up to audibly smack against his lower belly. "So, are you going to show me what you are wearing, Maddie, or what you're not?"

Her eyebrows raised, challenging. "Why don't you come here and find out?"

Certainly.

A quick dive beneath the covers revealed black thigh-high stockings clipped to a garter belt, with a matching corset. Her body, which had once seemed exceptionally-shaped, now looked lumpy and tired, and he knew that it wasn't her fault. It hadn't changed at all.

His own eyes had changed. Watching Lizzie bring herself off, even if only from the waist up, had completely ruined everyone and everything else for him. No one would ever come close, but that didn't matter. The sounds and images of her were burned into his memory, hot enough to leave permanent scars. He could call upon them at any time, or any place.

Starting now.

He'd be lucky to last thirty seconds. Madeline would probably feel anything but lucky. (Not his problem though. No one invited her.)

"Tell me you were wearing something over this when Dembe let you in."

"Long cream trenchcoat, buttoned low."

He should probably be bothered by Dembe being so easily coerced, because it's very unlike him. In the very least, he should have asked Red before letting her inside. But on this occasion, well, it's a good thing that Dembe didn't go looking for him. That would have ended quite poorly.

Without further ado, he rolled Madeline from her back, to her stomach, and scooped an arm around her waist to pull her up onto her hands and knees.

Gruff. Silent.

"So... you aren't even going to kiss me first? That's not very gentleman-like."

"Oh please," He quickly thrust into her and slowly pulled back. "You and I both know that this - " He slammed back in, "Is the real reason that you came."

He brought both hands to her hips, trying to impart a bit of support for his increasingly-rapid thrusts. "And it's also," he added, "The reason that I'm about to come too."

With his eyes tightly shut, he could hear only Lizzie's moans - could feel only her walls squeezing around him, extracting everything that he had to give.

He always gives her everything.

  



	5. Chapter 5

  


When she got up the next morning, Liz was relieved that taking care of her needs the night prior had effectively put her to sleep afterwards, and in turn made her feel more relaxed now. Sighing, she sat up, feeling the blood rushing through her head. She definitely drank a little too much, but otherwise she would've never managed to pull this off. Actually, when the door had opened, Liz had considered not executing her plan after all. Of course him walking in on her touching herself had only been part of a grander plan, but it was a plan she didn't know how to finish yet. She wished she could have seen his face when he had realized that she was touching herself with him in mind, and at first she had thought that he might not be able to resist, but then he had walked out on her, only moments after she came with his name on her lips. She'd felt deflated at first. She hadn't counted on his rejection, but then, after thinking on it a little more, she realized that Red was a gentleman through and through, and he would never simply assume that she was fine with him seeing her like that, with the idea of him joining her in bed. She had been so excited to see him, thinking about their next breakfast together.

Now, she was still excited. Even though he was a master at masking his feelings and emotions, his eyes spoke volumes, and she was desperate to see what kind of emotions would run through him upon seeing her.

She put her sleeping mask on the nightstand and made her way to the bathroom, where she took a quick shower before dressing for the day. Her head was still pounding slightly as she walked down the stairs and towards the dining area.

"Oh my god, you should've stopped me from drinking so much wine. My head is –" she broke off at the sight that greeted her. There at the table sat the woman of her worst nightmares. Madeline fucking Pratt. She was smiling smugly at her, sitting straight as if she belonged there, with her snow white dress that gave everyone a good look of her cleavage. The woman had a talent for making her feel as if she wasn't worthy of being in Red's presence.

"Why, hello," Pratt greeted and Liz was reminded of just how much she hated that voice. "Nikki, right?"

She barely managed to open her mouth. "Nicole. Hello."

Pratt looked her up and down, appraising her casual wear with distaste. "Is this your first time in Florence? You look so... new."

Of course Red chose that moment to step into the room. Their eyes met and he knew, knew that this wasn't good. He hadn't counted on Lizzie being up so early, with Maddie still sitting at the breakfast table. The pain shimmering in her normally bright blue eyes cut him deeply. God, he should've never let Madeline stay, but he had been so aroused at the sight of his Lizzie in a moment of passion that he just couldn't stop himself.

"Raymond, if you were planning on parading her around, you should have taken her shopping. She looks like a tennis instructor."

He watched Lizzie pale slightly before a huge, fake grin spread over her lips. "Well, I have some things to take care of, tennis to teach, so if you'll excuse me."

Red wanted to reach out to hold her back, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak as he watched her walk out of the house. He really was a bastard. He felt Madeline wrap her arms around him from the back, pulling him against her chest, and her fingers started dancing over his front.

"So, now that the personnel is out of the house, how about we take this somewhere else?"

He grabbed her hands before they could get to his privates, untangling himself from her embrace. Putting a fake leer on, he went, "I wish, oh, how I wish that I could just take you right here, but I'm afraid I have business to attend to myself. I am, after all, trying to get my associate's painting back." He gave her a pointed look.

Once again, her hands ran over his front and up his chest. "Are you meeting with Andrea?"

"I am. I will get your information, so you better get that unbelievably ugly painting back here."

"Oh, it is worth much, much more than the information you could get out of him."

Red cocked his head to the side. "And what did you have in mind?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. "A lot more than that little romp last night."

He chuckled, his hands coming to a rest on her hips to pull her against his lower body. "What can I say? You've been teasing me non-stop on the phone. I couldn't help myself." The lie came easily. It wouldn't do them any good if she knew that seeing Lizzie masturbate had almost made him explode before he'd even stepped into his bedroom. Her lips covered his immediately, but Red just couldn't stop thinking about the look on Lizzie's face.

LizzingtonLizzingtonLizzington

Liz returned later than she had intended, but she hadn't wanted to run into Pratt again. After spending the day exploring Florence some more, she once again enjoyed dinner at that small restaurant she had fallen for. When she walked back into the house, it was dark and quiet. It seemed like no one was there. All the better. She went to the kitchen and got herself a bottle of water, opening it while walking towards the living room, where she came to a sudden stop.

There it was, the ugly painting that had once spoiled Red's appetite. It had been in one of his safe houses, she couldn't remember which one, when they had discussed… Madeline Pratt. What was that painting doing in Florence now? And why was Pratt here also? Had he been playing her and the FBI? Telling them there was information on a blacklister to get this painting back from his lover?

The front door opened again and she could hear two sets of shoes walking into the house. "What a dreadful day. Is there anymore of that ice cream, or have you eaten it all already?"

"There is some left," Dembe replied.

"Good, good. I need that now – Lizzie," he said, somewhat surprised. Then his eyes followed hers and he saw the painting. "Would you look at that? Once again, she's managed to make me lose my appetite."

"Do you really think I'm falling for that?" she asked, a deep frown on her face.

Red motioned for Dembe to give them some privacy as he stepped closer, noticing how her breaths came in short, angry puffs, and his eyes wandered downwards to see if her chest was rising and falling in sync with it. Momentarily, he was taken back to the sight of her squeezing her bare breast, while her other hand was hidden under the covers; the way she had moaned his name.

"I'm talking to you, Reddington!"

"What?" he asked, his voice soft as he slowly pulled himself out of his daze.

"Did you think that perhaps I wouldn't find out?"

"Find out what?" Angry Lizzie looked so exotic that he wondered if she would be feisty beneath the covers as well.

"That you're using the FBI, once again, to your benefit. And this time it's for a painting? Are you kidding me?"

He raised a brow at her. "You well know that I didn't solely come here for a painting."

"Is there even a blacklister, Reddington? A painting. Of all the things, you've dragged me here and made me stay here for over a week, for a freaking painting!"

He worked his jaw, trying to keep his own anger in check. Was she even listening to him? "Lizzie, I did not fly down here to simply get a painting. Whereas I do benefit from our relationship, I count myself as a giver, not a taker. I handed you information on a blacklister and took you here to find him, and simply because it's here and it was stolen from my associate, I'm getting that painting back. It's that simple."

"It's never simple with you."

"I guess our relationship might be a little –"

"We're not in a relationship! We never will be! Stop saying that word!" she interrupted.

Red blankly looked back at her, even though his chest hurt at her words. "The two of us are most definitely not in a relationship. I was talking about my liaison with the FBI, which you were a part of last time I checked, which makes 'relationship' the appropriate word. Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed today? You're in quite a mood."

"Screw you!"

He glared right back at her. "I don't know how to be any more clear about this."

"You've dragged me away from work, lying about some sort of –"

"I've never lied to you!" he interrupted, but she didn't care.

"…blacklister, to get your painting back. And then you have the nerve to invite yet another blacklister here, the one that screwed us over at the Syrian Embassy and then almost got you killed at the King auction!"

"Madeline and I –

"Oh, yes, Madeline!" She spat.

They glared at each other in silence for a moment, both breathing heavily, but despite her anger, he could see that she was hurting over this.

"Ask your question, Lizzie," he told her.

Trying to look as confidently as she could, she straightened her back. "What's going on between the two of you?"

Well, he surely hadn't expected her to ask that question. She rarely inquired about his personal life, his love life. He wasn't sure how to answer exactly, but he didn't want to lie to her either. Complete truth it was, then. "Our relationship is nuanced, I guess, but –"

"I'm leaving," Liz announced and started walking away.

"What?" He walked after her. "Lizzie, wait." The door closed right in front of him, and he could hear the lock turn. "Lizzie."

"Leave me alone."

"Lizzie, please. Let's talk about this."

"I don't want to talk to you," she said, sitting down on the bed. She had to pack a suitcase and somehow find her way to the airport. Good thing she had her credit card with her. She bet the flight would be expensive as hell.

"Lizzie." Red put a palm against the wooden door and leaned his forehead against it. "Can I come in?"

The nerve of that man. She reached out and grabbed her cell phone of the nightstand, momentarily taken aback by how badly her hands were shaking. Quickly pressing speed dial on her phone, she held it to her ear. "Hey, Ress, it's me."

"Let's talk," she could hear him say softly from the other side of the door.

"I'm packing my things and will try to get the first flight back. Would you pick me up from the airport? Yeah. No, no new intel. Alright, I'll text you my flight details then. Bye."

"Lizzie, please. Open the door so we can talk."

"I told you to leave me alone," she said, starting to throw random things into her bag.

Red sighed. "I will leave, but let us talk before. I don't want us to part like this." There was no reply, so he decided to change the angle a bit. "Think about the work we've done, the good work, because we were working so closely together. It's been what? Two years? How many bad guys have we taken down? Lizzie..."

"Reddington. Leave. Me. Alone."

"I hate it when you're mad at me," he said more to himself, than to her. "I don't want you to be angry. Lizzie, I care about you." She snorted and it him right in the middle of his heart.

"Right."

"Lizzie," he tried again. "Please, let us talk."

"For the last time, Reddington, I don't want to talk to you! Leave. Now!"

He let his head hang and sighed. Pushing himself from the door, he slowly backed away. This had definitely not gone the way he wanted it to. He'd try again later, after she'd had time to calm down.

Inside the room, Liz let herself fall onto the mattress as the first tears started forming in her eyes. When she had seen him outside, pleasuring himself with her name on his lips, she thought that she'd discovered something new about this enigma of a man. She had decided to tease him, to evoke a reaction. She dropped her covers, so to speak, and showed him what she was feeling inside. Maybe she should have known, from the way he had retreated without another thought, that he wasn't interested after all. At the end of the day, it was Madeline Pratt that got to kiss him.

After she had managed to calm herself down, she zipped up her suitcase and looked around the room, checking for forgotten things. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and exited the room, determined to head straight for the door. She didn't want to spend another minute in the man's presence, too afraid she'd break down and cry over the pain inside her chest. Just thinking about him made her eyes water.

Red heard her coming down the stairs and stood from the couch, putting his tumbler of scotch on the coffee table. "Lizzie, please just wait a moment." She ignored him as she made her way to the front door and he reached out to hold her back by the arm.

Like a cat she shot around, almost baring her teeth as she spat, "Don't you dare touch me!"

His hand hovered in the air, his lips parted in shock. He was reminded of the Luther Braxton incident, where she had reacted almost the same. Swallowing hard, he dropped his hand and his head. "Let me explain?"

"I'm sick of the lies that keep leaving your mouth."

"Where are you going?" He asked softly.

"Home," she answered shortly as she reached the door.

Red held himself upright with one hand against the wall. "But the pilot -"

"I don't give a damn about your pilot, Reddington. I'm flying coach."

He nodded, even though she wasn't even looking at him. "Alright, but can we please just talk for a moment? You don't even need to talk, just listen. One minute."

For a second he thought he might have bought himself some time to explain, but the hope was painfully crushed when she pulled open the front door and left the house without even looking back.

"She will come around, Raymond," Dembe's voice came from behind him.

"I don't know." Red sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Can you make sure -"

"Of course," his longtime friend responded, even before he had finished his sentence. Dembe walked past him and squeezed his shoulder on the way. "Should I bring back more ice cream? Maybe gelato?"

He chuckled at the question, the younger man knew how to lighten his mood. "Strawberry gelato would be great. Thank you, my friend."

"Always, Raymond."

LizzingtonLizzingtonLizzington

It had taken her half an hour to find a cab, which did nothing to brighten her mood, and the ride to the airport took some time as well. She wasn't sure if the driver had realized that she didn't speak Italian, because he continued talking to her in his native language. When they arrived, Liz handed him the money, including a generous tip, and hurried into the building. She had to find the first available flight to the U.S.; that was all she needed. Once there she could always find her way home.

Long hours later, both at the airport and then finally on the plane, Liz found herself back home. She had actually managed to find a direct flight back to DC. She was exhausted and cranky and really just wanted to sleep, or hit someone, preferably the bane of her existence, Raymond Reddington.

"Keen?"

Shooting around, she found a familiar redhead looking back at her. "Hey, Ress. Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem," he replied. "Reddington didn't want you on his plane anymore? What did you do this time? Another pen in the neck?"

"Funny." She rolled her eyes. "No, he said that he'd try tracking down some leads and that there was no need for me to be present, that we should rather try our luck here." The lie came easy and her co-worker seemed to accept it.

"You look exhausted."

"Spending time with Reddington does that to you."

He huffed a laugh as he led her to his car. "And you seemed so thrilled to go with him in the first place."

"I know, right?" Liz played along. "It's probably a good thing that there weren't any pens around."

Ressler checked his watch before pulling away from the airport. "Do you want me to drop you off at home?"

Home. Her cold, ugly motel room. "Yeah, that would be great. I know it's only morning, but I've pretty much been awake for the last 30 hours or so."

"Sure thing. I'll let Cooper know. If we need anything, we'll just call Reddington."

She unbuckled her seatbelt when the motel came into sight. "Thanks again for picking me up."

"Don't mention it," he replied. "Hey, Keen? You should really find a new place."

She knew that too. "When do I have time to look for a new place? I barely have a weekend off."

"True. Maybe after you've gotten some shuteye."

"See you tomorrow, Ress."

"Later, Keen."

Without looking back, she made her way into her room and fell face first onto the bed. Of course her stupid brain had to go straight to Red. It wasn't as if she needed a break. That bastard. Making promises he couldn't keep, wouldn't keep, and actually having the nerve to bang her number one enemy. No, their. Their number one enemy. Madeline Pratt had almost gotten them killed twice and still he felt the need to hook up with her. All the while he promised showing her a good time in Florence.

Grabbing one of the pillows, Liz threw it across the room. "God, I hate you!" She screamed into the empty space. Maybe that would help her get some rest.

LizzingtonLizzingtonLizzington

A week later, Red had finally found his way back, but Liz refused to acknowledge his presence. She wouldn't look at him, had yet to even say a word towards him. Aram had surely noticed, because he kept looking from one to the other, trying to discern what the problem was, but he didn't dare ask.

After a briefing, Liz made her way to her presently-empty office, shutting the door behind her before sitting down at her desk.

It wasn't long until she heard it open again. Red.

What was it with him and not knocking? Her fingers were balled into fists, willing herself to resist lashing out at him.

He sat down in Ressler's chair, crossing his legs and putting his fedora on the desk. "Hello, Lizzie. I'm back, if you hadn't noticed. How was your trip back here? Flying coach is not something I prefer. Ugh, those tiny seats, and the complete lack of service... Anyway, Harold has sent dear Donald and Agent Navabi to bring in the suspect, so how about the two of us go out to lunch? There's this beautiful little hole in the -"

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, and his mouth shut with a click. He didn't look happy at her outburst. "I don't want to eat with you. I don't even want to be near you! And you have the goddamn nerve to barge in here without knocking, again, like you own this fucking place?!"

"Langu –"

"Shut up!" This time the tic under his eye came to life. "You're the most infuriating individual I've ever met." She grabbed her jacket and bag and made to walk past him.

"So, lunch is off the table?" The only reply was the door swinging shut with a loud bang. Red nodded to himself, his lips pursed. "That went well."

  



	6. Chapter 6

Liz gritted her teeth and rapped three times on the door of Red's safehouse du jour. It was nearly midnight, but she had a feeling that Red would still be awake. Even if he wasn't, she was prepared to see to it, herself. If she couldn't sleep, then why should he?

A very-alert Dembe answered the door and stepped aside to let her in without question. She wondered if Red had told him to expect her, and took a deep breath to quell the annoyance of possibly being so predictable to him. "He's in the study."

"Thank you."

Few lights were on inside the house, but they were a dim, warm amber. It was perfect for a man accustomed to living in the shadows, and just enough for Liz to navigate the halls.

She found him sitting in a leather wingback chair that he'd turned to face the window. Her entrance into the room was silent, but because the window offered a view of the front yard, he already knew that she was there. With this in mind, she moved slowly and deliberately into his peripheral field as she took a moment to study him.

Red idly swirled his scotch and took a sip, clearly aiming for nonchalance. He was dressed down, tie-less and jacket-free, with his sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. She felt her breath catch as he turned to acknowledge her, revealing how low he'd unbuttoned his shirt - almost halfway, as if he were intentionally trying to make her stumble and stutter.

Mission accomplished?

Not quite.

He extended one hand towards a nearby chair, inviting her to have a seat. She pushed it closer to match the position of his, and its legs scraping against the hardwood made a cringe-worthy screech. Red only arched an eyebrow in response.

They sat side-by-side in a heavy, prolonged silence. Liz didn't know where to begin, but Red didn't want to rush her, or worse, make incorrect presumptions about the nature of her visit. The smallest of perceived infractions could set her off.

However, when he finished his scotch, he gave up on waiting, and tentatively offered a few words of encouragement. "I'm glad that you're here, Lizzie. How can I help you?"

Clearly, her visit wasn't work-related. If that were the case, then she'd have gotten down to it already.

But perhaps she didn't want to talk at all. Maybe she was just lonely, and in need of company.

"I don't think you can."

"Maybe not, but I'm open to trying."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Red. I don't know."

"I believe I know what I've done to anger you, but I can't fix something without knowing exactly why it's broken." It was about Madeline. It had to be.

She stared at him and swallowed, her throat hopelessly dry. "You described your relationship with Madeline Pratt as 'nuanced.' What... what exactly does that mean?"

Her jealousy baffled him, but he certainly wouldn't make the mistake of throwing out that particular label again. "You mean 'how can I sleep with her after she nearly got us killed?'"

"Not exactly... I mean yes, that's certainly confounding. I guess that's part of it, assuming those nuances are part of your justification. So please, just lay it out for me. Help me understand."

His lips momentarily pressed into a thin line, belying the care for which he chose his words.

"There was a time that she and I were a serious, legitimate couple. Or at least, we had successfully convinced ourselves that we were," he began, and then proceeded to spin the story of their earlier days, then the time he stood her up in Florence, and finally the drama surrounding that godawful painting.

Liz stared at him openly until it seemed that he'd finished. He sighed, gathering his thoughts before they could escape him again.

"So, if you were never a real couple, you were essentially using her, right? For sex? For a distraction?" Liz spat.

"Not intentionally, but in a way, yes. Realizing that is part of what lead me to backing out on Florence. But... I'd wronged her, there, which gave me an understanding of her actions that followed. We've reached a truce."

"Well, I haven't forgiven her."

"Nor should you."

"You're right, and nor should you," she pointedly replied.

He shrugged. The conversation's direction seemed off-course, to him.

"So... if you don't love her, then why are you still sleeping with her? How is that not using her? I can see why you did it before." She sighed, and her gaze veered away from him, locking in on the ancient oak tree in the front yard. "But now... I don't see why it's necessary."

Red didn't know what to say. He could almost always dole out an evasive response with little effort, but if this was going where he secretly and shamefully hoped that it was, then he'd be a fool to drop such a line. She needed him to be direct. He stood up and walked over to the improvised bar that he'd set up on an end table. "Would you like a drink? I only have scotch and club soda up here, but I'm sure we could find something to your taste in the wine cellar."

She wasn't really a fan of scotch, but a drink might provide some marginal relief for her nerves, and she'd risk losing her grip on them if he made a trip down to the wine cellar. "Scotch is fine. Thank you."

Their fingers lightly touched when he passed her the heavy crystal tumbler, and she wondered if he felt that same pulsing electricity - the one that nearly took her breath away. Instantly, her mind jumped back to what she saw him do with that hand, and what he'd watched her do with hers. Liz had no choice but to quickly look away.

Just as she began to think that he wouldn't answer her last question, he softly began, "I can't speak to her motives, but we're using each other. I don't feel good about it, but I don't feel guilty either. Frankly, I don't think I should."

"Okay," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his once again. "But why?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business. Have I ever asked that of you?" His words came out more harshly than he'd intended, and before he could even draw his next breath, he knew that he'd made a mistake in even speaking them, regardless of his tone.

"No, you didn't have to ask, because you already know exactly why I was with Tom, don't you? So why her, now?"

He shook his head. "I can't tell if you're trying to humanize me or shame me, but neither are necessary. Do you really want to know why?"

She nodded, dead serious, careful not to even blink.

"Well, if you'll excuse me for being crass, it's the same reason as before - to bury my grief between her thighs. If there's a more effective distraction, then I haven't found it."

The nerve under his left eye twitched as he scrutinized her reaction to the revelation. She looked... almost satisfied, but he couldn't discern whether it was because of the answer itself or merely the fact that he'd answered at all.

But she understood. She'd even done the same with Tom, on that stupid boat, but she wasn't about to mention that.

Long seconds later, she replied flatly, "I think you can do better."

"What makes you think that I want to?"

Liz chuckled mirthlessly and looked away. "You don't want to know." She tipped her head back and drained the last of her scotch, and then took it upon herself to get up and refill it.

As she sat down, he replied, "You're awfully confident in your assessment of my wants, especially considering how evasive you are about your own." It came out as cold as ice, transparent in his attempt to incense her enough to spit out whatever she was holding back.

She felt as if his eyes were physically pressing her body into the chair, so she instinctively rebelled against the heavy weight of his gaze by standing again and relocating to a couch on the other side of the room. Red tracked her movement with only his ears, but couldn't help noticing the tiny, crescent-shaped indentations that her fingernails had left on the armrest of her chair. He kept his mouth closed and waited, equally relieved and apprehensive that she hadn't left entirely.

Long minutes later, he stood up to refill his own drink, and Liz's heart began to race, thinking he would try to sit down beside her. But on his way back to his chair, as he passed her by without so much as a glance, she surprised herself as much as him by reaching out to grab his hand. "Red?" He froze and swallowed thickly before taking the hint and sitting down beside her.

Was she going to answer him now?

"Typically, when one is in the throes of passion," she began, pausing only briefly to moisten her suddenly-dry lips, "they say the name of the person they're making love to, if they say any name at all. Failing that... it's the name of the person that they're thinking about."

Of the countless moments in which she'd seen him deadly serious (and often quite literally deadly), she'd never watched Red's face harden so quickly or severely. Her racing pulse quickened further. Much to her surprise, she found it equally frightening and arousing.

Red saw only her dilated pupils and slightly-labored breathing. Mentally, he was grasping at straws and drowning. If he had shouted another woman's name while he was with Madeline, then she would have cut him off immediately. Did Lizzie know that he had watched her? Did she see him first, back in Florence? Did she plan it that way?

As if she could read his thoughts, she leaned towards him and softly whispered, "Yes."

Red needed more. He needed total validation. "'Yes,' what, Lizzie?"

Finally seeing that she had him right where she wanted him, she oozed only confidence and desire, and leaned in a little closer still before she replied, "I do know that you want something better, someone better."

His gaze softened as he mirrored her motions, until they were eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose. His lips just barely brushed over hers as he asked, still stricken by disbelief, "You intentionally kept my bag in your room?"

Rather than reply, she pulled back, and Red crumbled immediately... until he realized that she was only setting her drink down. He carelessly tossed his own over his shoulder and his lips were on hers before the tumbler hit the hardwood floor.

As insistent as she was with her hands, both of them gripping the back of his neck to hold him close, fearful that he'd soon think better of this decision, his lips continued to move over hers so gently and pillow-soft that it almost hurt.

All five senses blurred together in a hurricane of immense need. Liz swung one leg over his hips to straddle his lap. Hovering over him, she pressed his shoulders back into the couch and then cupped his face with both hands, simply staring at him, taking in the moment.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, only half in jest.

"Not one."

In reassurance, she lowered her lips to his once again, but as she opened her mouth, he pulled back. "I need to tell you one thing before we go any further."

"Is it going to make me change my mind?" she asked, wary.

"No."

"Okay, then go ahead."

"Madeline showed up uninvited that night. When I went back to my room after ah, getting my bag, she was just in there waiting for me. I didn't think you'd be up so early the next day, and hoped to have her gone before you ventured out. Believe me, Lizzie, you were very much on my mind."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I believe you. Now, can we drop it? I never want to hear that woman's name again."

"With pleasure."

This time, when they kissed, Liz sank down in Red's lap, and his hands greedily clutched her hips to pull her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her. In the blur of her senses, his moan tasted divine.

She crossed her arms and tugged the hem of her shirt, making to pull it over her head, but without so much as breaking the kiss, Red blindly caught her wrists and stilled them. He huffed with amusement at her displeased grunt.

"Slow down, sweetheart. If you're still game, we can break in the study some other time. For now, I'd prefer a more comfortable setting."

She slipped off of his lap without protest and took his offered hand, allowing him to lead her upstairs to the master bedroom. Its decor fit well with the rest of the house, in dark and moody earth tones.

When Liz reached to flick on the light switch, Red once again grabbed her wrist. "Off, please," he whispered, pressing her against the closed door with his hips.

She was honestly taken aback by his plea, mostly because it was exactly that - a plea. Shouldn't he want to see her better, especially given how dim the lights were anyhow?

He seemed intent on keeping her too busy to worry about it. With apparent ease, he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding herself up as he gently trailed his lips along her neck and she pulled his open vest off of his shoulders.

Both her top and bra were discarded within seconds. His hands and mouth dropped to her chest immediately in a tender and tactile exploration. What she didn't know was how badly he longed to gaze upon her, and what a sacrifice he was making just to delay the inevitable.

What he didn't know was whether it would be worth it or not. Her reaction would determine that.

Only his dress shirt and his undershirt stood between her hands and the permanent etchings of their shared past. With his vest gone, if she wasn't so busy reaching down to grab his ass and pull him closer, she'd have noticed them already.

When she impatiently ripped open his dress shirt, the mother of pearl buttons scattering across the floor, he winced and said an inward, silent prayer to a god that he didn't even believe in.

She mistook his uncontrolled expression as worry about the shirt, of course. "That wasn't a favorite, was it?"

"No, Lizzie," he began, lowering her feet to the floor so he could slip off her skinny jeans, "you are my favorite."

Ugh, so maudlin that he nearly cringed, but none of these thoughts lessened the pain of being so tightly confined in his trousers. He was equally surprised and relieved when she reached for his belt buckle next. Down to his undershirt and boxers, he backed her against the wall once again, and she hiked one leg around his hips and slipped a hand between them to stroke him through his boxers.

The gentle caress of her hand stood in stark contrast to her mouth, firmly latched onto his neck, her tongue actively seeking out the scar she'd given him so long ago, her teeth scraping him all along the way. If it was a hint, Red happily took it. He mirrored her motions with his own hand, stroking over her panties until she whimpered and squimed. When he tugged on the elastic waistband, she cocked her head and affixed him with a reproachful glare.

"No, this first," she bit out, attempting to relieve him of his undershirt, to little effect.

His nostrils flared from the effort of suppressing a heavy sigh. "If you insist."

And she did. Of course she did, so he complied.

Then he found relief by her hands once again - busied with exploring his chest hair. Liz dragged her fingers through it and leaned down to lightly sink her teeth into his nipple, vibrating with pleasure at the low moan that she could feel as well as hear. "You're killing me," he rumbled.

Lightning-fast, she dropped to her knees, freed his cock from his boxers and yanked them down, smirking up at him playfully. "I'm fine with that. Just don't die on me too quickly, 'kay?" His surprised gasp melted into a shuddering moan as her lips closed around him.

In between sighs of pleasure, Red bit out, "Then you .. mi-might want to rethink the lethal.. weapon that you've got wrapped around me."

Rather than releasing him immediately, she took a moment to delight in exercising her newfound power. She drew him in as far as she could and swallowed when he hit the back of her throat. Her slender fingers wrapped around the inches that her mouth couldn't - just one stroke and she backed off, smacking her lips in satisfaction. Her eyes were locked on his the entire time.

You're playing with fire, sweetheart, he thought, unable to voice the words aloud.

It was then that she pressed herself against him from knees to shoulders, gripping his biceps. A slight wiggle ground his cock into the silken plane of her lower belly, and she steadily pushed him backwards, towards the bed. They were nearly blind with only moonlight from the window, awkward and fumbling, quite far from the door.

She pushed him on his back and slowly crawled up his body, kissing a trail from his navel to his lips. As she began to slide her slickness over him, Red was simultaneously overcome by two thoughts. One, he wasn't ready. He still hadn't even tasted her. But also, if she rode him, she may not notice his scars - at least, not this time.

Sensing his lack of focus, Liz immediately knew how to bring him back without calling him out on it. "I had a dream about you, after I saw you that night, Raymond."

A solution to one problem hit him, clear as day. "Come here," he growled, grabbing her hips and pulling her up his chest. She got the idea and scooted up the rest of the way, until she was nearly straddling his face, bracing her arms on the mahogany headboard.

He kissed a trail along her inner thigh, with his mouth open and tongue darting, all the way up to her center. His lips barely brushed over hers, with a breath of hot air, as he implored, "Tell me about it."

"You... you came into my room and woke me up - god!" He'd just grabbed her thighs and plunged his tongue into her, but after cutting her off mid-sentence, decided to slow down in order to allow her to continue.

"Mmm... go on," he crooned, brushing his lips achingly close to her clit.

"You - you called me out on watching you... said you were imagining my mouth, and that - that I should have joined you."

Red struggled to maintain a slow pace, his tongue trilling and lips sucking. She tasted heavenly and he couldn't get enough.

"And you were so, you were so forward. You wanted to know if I liked what I saw, and if I touched myself after watch - watching you."

"Did you?" he rumbled abruptly, his lips wrapped around her clit.

She dropped a hand to his head in a silent plea for more, more, more, but dutifully did her best to recall the details of the dream. What had haunted her nearly as much as the actual sight of him had suddenly grown remarkably fuzzy in the moment, and with the man in the flesh, finally.

"I wanted to." And yet... she didn't do it. That's probably why she'd had that dream in the first place.

He hummed and reached up to cup her breasts, delighting anew in how perfectly they filled his palms.

"But in the dream, I didn't answer, and you took it as a, god... a YES!"

He felt her trembling above him, so close already, but he wanted to be inside her the first time he made her come. He pulled back and looked up at her. "Then what, Lizzie?"

"Red, please, keep going. Your mouth, I've never felt anything like it. It's incredible..."

Lord help him, he couldn't deny her, but with great effort, he continued to tongue her folds gently. She continued, "You asked me to imagine you inside me, instead of my fingers."

His hips jerked upwards involuntarily at her words, helplessly connecting with nothing. He was so achingly hard that he couldn't bear it another second. He gripped her thighs and gently pushed her downward, "We don't have to imagine anymore," he whispered.

But instead of sliding back down on top of him, she rolled to her side and buried her face in the crook of his neck, deeply breathing in his intoxicating scent. She placed the sweetest, most tender kiss over his pulse.

His heart seized in fear, knowing exactly what she'd say next.

"I want you on top of me."

Trembling from bow to stern with an excruciating combination of different desperations, he followed her movements as she rolled to her back, and settled himself between her thighs. Her hands were both resting on the nape of his neck, and he stilled, hovering over her, in limbo. Liz could make out his expression well enough to know that something was wrong, so her hands slipped around to cup both of his cheeks. "Talk to me," she implored softly.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Instead, he lowered himself on top of her, resting against her completely, knowing what instinct would lead her to do next. He sighed against her ear and shook his head. Trepidation prevented him from taking another breath as she wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.

"Red? What is..." she trailed off, her fingers fumbling over the uneven surface of his skin. Her breath quickened. "Scars?" He nodded. "Burn scars?"

He gasped. "Yeah."

"From the... the..."

He nodded and shuddered.

In a rush, every horrible thing she'd ever said to him flooded back to her, and she choked back an anguished sob. "Why didn't you tell me? Every time I called you a monster, weren't you at least tempted to offer up a verifiable defense? That the very night we met, you saved my life? I mean, you did allude to it, albeitly abstractly, but..."

"Because contrary to what you might believe, with all of the unfairness that I've inflicted upon you by necessity, I place a high premium on opportunities to be as fair to you as I possibly can. It's unfair to have you base your perception of me on a distant past in your childhood - a past of which you have no memory, which is also because of me. I've also told you that I rarely think about who I was then. Now is more important."

Privately, Red was glad that in this grave moment, he could feel his blood redistributing itself more evenly throughout his body. His thoughts began to flow more clearly. "And besides, my... disfigurement isn't proof that I saved you. You could have just as easily jumped to another conclusion - that I had set the fire."

"Did you?"

"No."

She shifted her weight below him and eagerly sought out his lips. "Then make love to me, Raymond."

Clearly his blood hadn't made it too far. Her words... her tone. God, her tone, all breath and lust. He rolled to his side to flip on the small bedside lamp. When he settled back on top of her again, she flashed him the most brilliant smile. He watched her jaw drop as he inserted a single finger into her and ground himself against her lower belly. She squeezed around him so, so tightly that he could only surmise that she was showing off. "Jesus, Lizzie..."

"You're thinking about how that's going to feel, mmmh? Aren't you tired of thinking?" she purred.

It was all he could do not to profess his undying love for her right then and there, but he had every intention of showing her instead. He added another finger and curled them, stroking her inner walls firmly. "I imagine that it feels like we'll have to take it slow - perhaps more slowly than you can bear..."

He abruptly removed his fingers and replaced them with just the tip of his aching length, his lips fastened to hers to swallow the steady chorus of groans that she couldn't possibly withhold.

Just as he warned, he entered her with painstaking slowness - the slightest bit in and then back out again. Coming only an inch inside of her felt like a very real possibility.

How was she so tight? So slick? So soft and delectable and right?

"More, Red," she begged, giving a calculated upward thrust that seated him halfway.

And she must have known exactly what she was doing, because he reflexively thrust forward with a heady moan until he was fully sheathed.

Trembling with possibility.

Red didn't dare move yet, but she did, inwardly, squeezing around him until she shuddered, toes curling and nails gripping his back. Yes, he'd had her so close only minutes ago, but he wasn't yet accustomed to making her feel good, much less this good.

Now, with her consuming and quivering around every inch of him, he'd never felt better. Never so awestruck. Never so possessed.

He shifted more weight from his upper body to his lower, and Lizzie didn't come simply. She came alive.

The soft whimpers of her aftershocks nearly brought him to tears, and still, he didn't move within her. He simply stroked her hair and murmured sweet, reassuring words of understanding into the shell of her ear. Finally he knew that she was just as overwhelmed as he, himself.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked upwards in suggestion.

"More for you, before me, darling," he said as he slowly slipped out of her and then back in again, over and over. The motion was so easy, so velvety, and so natural that he continued to struggle with the friction-seeking demands of his cock.

Between thrusts, her shoulders lifted just enough for him to wrap his arms around her. He held her close and moved in deep circular motions within her until he felt her abs begin to quiver against his, her body tensing and ready to let go once again.

Red had just two final wishes for this moment, before he followed her into the sweet, merciful abyss.

"I want you to ride me, Elizabeth," he growled, and then grinned when she nodded. With his arms still wrapped around her, he rolled until their positions were reversed, and then let go to allow her to push herself up. She rocked against him at her own pace, and Red took a moment to relish in her grace and the rhythmic sway of her breasts. He settled his hands on her hips, trying to commit her every move to memory.

"Will you touch yourself, for me? Show me what you like."

She smiled coyly, and if her passion-flushed cheeks could've reddened further, they would have. She wasn't exactly jumping to say 'yes', but she wasn't saying 'no' either.

"You know that I couldn't see under that blanket."

She kissed him soundly and raked her delicate fingers down his chest and belly until he she reached her center. Her gentle, tentative circles quickly gained momentum, and her head fell back, eyes closed.

"Elizabeth, look at me."

His eyes were molten lava, burning through her and blacking out the periphery. He knew the exact moment to let go, and that the very first burst of his own climax was exactly what she needed to trigger her own. In that suspended fraction of a second, he reached for her and pulled her down against his chest to ride him low and deep as they shuddered through the waves that bounced off of one another and seemed to radiate for miles.

  



	7. Chapter 7

She collapsed against him, both panting and twitching in the aftermath, and Red wrapped his arms more tightly around her. They stayed like that for long moments, until their breathing returned to normal and their hearts stopped banging so furiously. Red carefully rolled them to the side and pulled out, his breath hitching. Before pulling fully away, he pressed a kiss to her sweaty brow, then he turned over to his right side and reached for his discarded undershirt. He felt the faint tingling of her fingertips grazing along his back in exploration.

"Do they hurt?" she asked softly.

"No. I rarely feel anything." He did, however, feel her lips pressed against his skin more fully. He stiffened somewhat and turned onto his other side.

Having felt the change in his posture, she let him, but she didn't retrieve the hand at his hip. Her facial expression was soft, her eyes only slightly wet. He couldn't help but kiss her lips; she was addicting. Just as he began to gather the fabric of his undershirt to put it back on, she squeezed his hip.

"Raymond?" God, his name on her lips was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. "Leave it off." He suppressed an instinctive sigh and tossed it aside. She gently cupped his face in her hands. "I love you."

His eyes widened and his lips parted. His body trembled almost imperceptibly in disbelief. "Lizzie," he said in a raspy voice.

"It's okay," she replied immediately and quickly leaned in to kiss him. "It's okay. You don't need to say anything." Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and she pulled him against her, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

"Lizzie," he said again. "Sweetheart, I want to." He pulled back slightly to look at her. "I'm afraid I am lacking the eloquence right now, but that doesn't make the meaning any less true - quite the opposite, actually. I love you, Elizabeth. I've loved you for a long time, but I never thought I'd stand a chance, or that I even deserved one."

"Funny you'd say that, because that is what I feared." He gave her a look that told her she needed to explain. "Your countless Dr. Lipsticks and Madeline Pratts…"

Red snorted. "Meaningless distractions. They've got nothing on you."

"Well, you-know-who did mention I looked like a tennis instructor."

"She's jealous." Sneaky fingers were making their way back under the covers to dance over her velvety skin.

"How do you figure?"

"She saw you at the Embassy, dressed to the nines and dancing with me, and she felt compelled to comment on your age. She was grasping at straws. Very base."

"So, you'll be content to direct all of your charm and attention towards me?"

Her jealousy excited him. How someone as beautiful and smart as his Lizzie could fear him looking for another woman was beyond him. "Why would I, when I have the woman I want?"

Liz blushed at his words, her index finger drawing aimless little circles on his side. "Including waitresses, barkeepers, Samar…?"

He couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his throat at the mention of her colleague. "What is it with your dislike of Agent Navabi?"

"I don't dislike her… I just don't want her near you," she told him. "Red…"

"Sweetheart, you know that in my line of…" he trailed off when her fingers stiffened. "I will work on it, I promise." She visibly relaxed and let one of her legs slip between his. "But you will need to promise me to work on your sleeping habits." Seeing the look of confusion on her face, he reached over and opened his nightstand. When he turned back, he wore a cheeky grin as he dangled her sleeping mask in front of her, her panda sleeping mask.

"Oh my god, where did you get this?!"

The look of horror on her face made him laugh again. "You forgot it in Florence. Really, Lizzie, I love you, but this thing?"

"Oh god." She buried her face in his chest, groaning.

"If watching you touch yourself wasn't so very, very, very arousing, I would've disturbed your little display with laughter. A panda sleeping mask, Lizzie? And while you were putting on a show for me?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," she mumbled against him.

"Mhm… not really."

With another groan, she pushed herself away from him and turned onto her left side, her ears hot with embarrassment.

"Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie."

She didn't know how one word could carry so much meaning. Begrudgingly, she turned back around and found herself face to face with her favorite criminal. Her favorite criminal, who was wearing her pink panda mask around his head. She couldn't not laugh at the sight. How he managed to be such an adorable dork, she didn't know. Without realizing it, her laughter had brought her to tears and Red was gently wiping them away, a small smile on his lips.

"Can we agree that this needs to go?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Because I just cannot imagine waking up the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and upon opening my eyes, I find myself looking at that," he said, pointing to his forehead.

"Understood."

"We'll sleep with blackout curtains drawn shut if we have to, so that not one ray of light will come through."

"Red? I got it," she said with a smile. "Now, I'm just gonna go get my overnight bag."

"No," he argued. "I think you should stay right here. It's too cold outside anyway." He could see her opening her mouth. "Lizzie, stay. We'll get it in the morning."

She nodded and reached out to take the sleeping mask from his head and threw it over her shoulder before snuggling back into his chest. "But you'll have to keep me warm."

He hummed and the sound vibrated through her body. Before she knew it, she was enveloped in his embrace and pulled tightly into his chest. "I love you, Lizzie."

It took him a moment, but when her own hands started caressing his back, he actually managed to relax a bit. "And I love you," she replied, kissing the little scar on his neck.

The warmth of the comfortable cocoon he had created was slowly putting her to sleep, and she bent her head to kiss his chest, thinking that she might be developing a fetish for chest hair.

"Lizzie?"

"Mh?"

"When can I watch you again?"

Her lower belly constricted at his words, warmth spreading to her southern regions. "We'll see," she whispered hoarsely, her voice a mixture of arousal and sleepiness.

"We could watch each other. My goodness, yes, I would love that."

"Raymond?"

"Yes, Lizzie?"

"Sleep."

"But, sweetheart –"

"Red," she interrupted. "If you don't sleep now, all of these images in your head? They will never happen."

His mouth shut with a click and the room was quiet for a moment. "Bossy," he mumbled under his breath, but cuddled her close.

"G'night, Ray."

He buried his face in her silky hair and kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight, Lizzie. I love you."

  



End file.
